The Beast Within
by hbrackett
Summary: A mysterious antique store, a cursed coin, and a megalomaniac vampire named Herrick complicate the life of our favorite werewolf in this AU fic set just after Season 1's 2nd episode. Some credit is due to the Amicus Anthology "From Beyond The Grave".
1. Chapter 1

April 14th, 1997

"There he is, get him!" shouted one of the boys. George ran from his hiding spot, a gangly, skinny teenager in what were now ripped jeans and a torn plaid shirt. The one good thing about being this skinny is that he was frightfully fast. So fast, that it nearly saved his neck. Nearly. George ran into the ringleader of the boys, Samuel "Spotty" Sedgwick, although no one called him that to his face. What he lacked in dermatological efficiency he made up for in sheer size and muscle. George bounced off the larger boy and landed on his bum. Still dazed, he almost fainted when he was lifted into the air in a strangle hold and smacked into a wall.

Dimly, he wondered why his neck hadn't developed calluses from the sheer number of times this happened to him. Why did people just seem to want to hurt him? Did he smell funny or something?

The other boys gathered round now, laughing in anticipation of whatever horrors were about to be visited on George's person. George's eyes darted from one to another, marking their faces; Shaun Baker, Thomas Cartwright, Nicholas Battersby and Gordon Stotch. Spotty smacked his head into the wall again and again, each thud harder than before. George was rapidly losing consciousness, but was dimly aware of an anger growing inside him. The odd thing was, it didn't feel like his anger, it was almost as if there were a stranger in his head. George found his eyes marking the boys faces again, as if making sure of their identities for some reason.

Spotty drew back one ham sized fist for what would surely be the coup-de-grace.

George mumbled something.

Spotty cocked his ear.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Not the glasses please." George stammered out again.

"Oh, right." Spotty took George's glasses and handed them to Shaun who dutifully stuck them in his pocket.

"Thank you." murmured George. "You are a kind soul –"

Something cannonballed him into darkness.

George awoke in the hospital, and at first he thought:

"When did I become a mummy?"

He put his fingers up to his face and felt the bandages there. There was an enormous shooting pain in the center of his face, which indicated that his nose was severely injured.

"Don't touch that, young man." Said a voice.

George turned towards the voice.

"Are you a doctor? Where is my family?"

"I'm not a doctor. I'm a police constable. My name is Sgt. Angel. Your family is outside, and you will see them shortly. I just had a few questions I wanted to ask you about the incident."

George knew the fate of tattletales.

"I'm not naming names. I can take care of myself." He said stubbornly.

"George, we know the name of the boy you fought with, as well as all of the ones who witnessed it." He said sternly.

"Then what do you want to know? I spent most of the fight unconscious anyway. Talk to Spotty about it." The pain was getting worse, and George was getting annoyed. Weren't you supposed to comfort victims of assault, instead of grilling them with stupid questions?

"I'd like to talk to Spot-erm, Samuel, but unfortunately he isn't in as good a shape as you. In fact, I am not sure he will ever recover from the coma he is in. Now I understand that you have been bullied frequently-"

"What?" shrieked George.

Sgt. Angel started. Surely the boy's voice should have changed by now? He rubbed his ears, wincing.

"When you hit him with that brick, you put him into a coma, George. Surely you remember that?" he asked.

George began shouting and thrashing on the bed, only realizing then that he was restrained.

"No! This is too much. They beat the bloody hell out of me, they knock me unconscious and now I'm being accused of hurting him? I've never hit anybody with anything in my life! Get out! Get out, you stupid PC! I didn't hit that overgrown git with any bloody brick! It must have been one of his friends aiming for me! Get out, I say!"

George suddenly lapsed into silence. The doctor rushed in, and exclaimed. Blood was seeping from the bandages.

The doctor was ushering the shocked PC from the room when a voice stopped them.

"One down." It said. Although the voice emerged from the bandages, it sounded nothing like the rather nervous and shrill voice from before.

"Sorry?" said the doctor and the PC together.

"Four to go."

The PC looked a long time at the young man, then took his cap and left.

When George was released from the hospital, the other boys gave him a wide berth, as if what that stupid PC had said was true. How on earth could George hurt someone and not remember it?

April 14th, 2008

"I told you, when I'm the wolf I don't remember anything I do. It's like I'm a different person, or thing. A really angry thing. That's why I don't blame Tully for scratching me, although I have to wonder why he wasn't locking himself up. That whole business with wanting to be matey with me and having me fight with you two, and keeping what he did a secret until he was in good with me…that was all him. He can't blame the wolf for that."

"And that's why you got rid of him." Said Mitchell, finishing off a kebab (he'd gotten George to buy it for him, claiming he left his wallet at home) and tossing the napkin and stick in the trash. It never ceased to amaze George how much his friend ate. Just walking down the street, Mitchell had devoured more than what George ate in a full day. And kept his shape, the bastard.

"Well, he was a wanker. I'm glad he's gone." Chimed in Annie. They had gone on an outing, feeling a need to get out of the house that was rare for all three of them.

Mitchell stopped at another street vendor, this one selling hot peanuts and pretzels. He held his hand out to George for more money. George and Annie rolled their eyes, while George leaned up against the glass of an antique shop to fish for his wallet. There was a chime, and George fell into the shop; what he thought was a window turned out to be the door. Mitchell and Annie burst into laughter as George got to his feet, dusting himself off frantically. Worried he might have broken something expensive, he saw a gently chuckling older gentleman smoking a pipe picking up an enormous stuffed raven which he placed on a shelf.

"You'll want to watch yourself, my boy. These things don't take kindly to being smashed." He said.

Annie and Mitchell followed George into the shop.

The proprietor nodded at each of them, startling Annie who hadn't been seen by anyone that day. Poor soul, he must be dying. The terminally ill usually had the ability to see her just as supernatural creatures did.

"Temptations, Ltd." Read Mitchell from the now backwards writing on the shop window.

"Feel free to look around, and see if anything catches your interest." He said.

The three friends spread out through the shop, glancing at the incredibly varied and exotic collection. There were items ranging from medieval torture devices to rather sinister looking paintings and statuary to relics of what surely had to be primitive and savage cultures. While each object certainly captured their interest, there was nothing they actually wanted to bring into their home. The proprietor eyed them with something like amusement, as if a joke had just been told and only he got the punchline. He gave Annie the creeps, and she moved towards the door suddenly feeling as if the place were a giant Venus Flytrap waiting to snap shut. Mitchell was looking hard at some of the various things in the shop as well, and unconsciously moved to join Annie without turning his back on them or the strange proprietor.

"I don't get many of your lot in here. In fact, I don't think I ever have." Said the old man suddenly.

"What do you mean, 'our lot'?" asked Mitchell.

The old man smiled again, still enjoying his joke.

"Young people, of course." He said, still staring directly at Mitchell.

Though the three did not discuss it with each other at the time, each of them had a distinct sensory experience within the store. To Mitchell, the objects smelled coppery, almost as if they had been dipped in blood and set on display. To Annie, the objects seemed to emit a vague discordant note like the constant pressing of an out of tune piano key. To George, the objects glowed with a slight sickly green phosphorescence. He made his way over to a case that contained antique coins.

"Lord, look at these! Ancient Roman coins! I used to collect coins when I was a kid. These here, they are Tyrian Shekels, solid silver. The same coins supposedly paid to Judas!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, exactly like those!" said the old man. "You know your coins, young man. I am afraid those have been promised to another, but perhaps you might be interested in a recent acquisition of mine.

The old man pulled out a wooden box and opened it carefully. The silver coin was double headed, with the picture of a benevolently smiling man on one side, and the snarling face of a beast on the other.

"That would be a representation of the god Janus, patron of gateways, who looks both into the future and the past." Said George.

The man nodded, pleased with George's description.

"Janus was the patron of duality itself, past and future, coming and going, good and evil. A study in how man is divided." He looked intently into George's eyes as he said this.

George looked at the coin. He suddenly wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. He had only five pounds in his pocket, not nearly enough for what he suspected the coin must be worth.

"If you are interested, I'll just check my invoice and see how much to charge." He left the coin on the counter and retreated into the back.

"George, come on! I don't like it in here, its creepy!" said Annie.

"Yeah George. Something's not right here." Added Mitchell.

"It would be rude to leave when he's expecting me to stay. I'll wait until he comes back and tell him I can't afford it. Hmm, that seems silly to have left it on the counter like that. Someone else might have walked away with it!" said George.

Annie and Mitchell left the store and stood outside shivering even in the hot midday sun. The bell chimed merrily.

After about five minutes, the man returned, and looked surprised to see George standing there.

Recovering, he picked up a handful of price tags and handed them to George.

"I am sure one of these belongs to the coin. Be a good chap and read me the price from the right one. My eyesight isn't what it used to be."

George looked through the tags. To his surprise, all of them read 5 pounds and referred to minor knickknacks. The one for the "Janus Coin" read 5,000 pounds. George's heart sank.

"It's this one. 5,000 pounds. I'm sorry, but that is really beyond my budget." He said sadly.

"Are you sure it's the right tag? Not one of these others?" asked the old man, still acting shocked by George's behavior.

"Yes, quite. It says 'Janus Coin' right on the back." Said George.

"Hmmm. I'm almost sure it must be an imitation." Said the old man. You know your coins, son. If you say it is a fake, I will sell it to you for 5 pounds."

George shook his head.

"Nope, it's completely real. If you find the right collector, you might get double." He said helpfully. George really wanted the coin, but he had to be honest with the old guy. He was begging to be robbed.

The old man put his pipe down.

"Three chances I gave you. Three chances to cheat me, and you refused. You are quite a remarkable young man, and I'm sorry to say I underestimated you!"

"What?" asked George. So intent was he on gazing at the coin, he hadn't heard a word the old man said.

"I said I am very impressed with your honesty. I would like you to take this coin as my gift. I am aware of what it is worth, and I do this for a fellow coin lover. I do not often meet such as you in the world. I almost always get the 'wrong sort' in here. The 'right sort' can't even find the place. Perhaps Janus had the answer for us all along. That good and evil can exist in the same person. Do you believe that?"

George wasn't entirely sure what the old man was talking about, but the last statement seemed especially aimed at him.

"Yes. I can say I'm 100% sure of it." He said.

"There is more inside of you than even you suspect, my friend. Take the coin with my blessing; a rare thing, that!"

"Thank you! I mean, if you are sure. If you change your mind, let me know." George scribbled his cell phone number and address down on the back of the price tag for the coin. He slipped it into his pocket and left the store whistling.

The old man sat in the dark silence of his store, a red tinge coming into his eyes.

"Now _this_ should be interesting!" he said aloud.

There was the sound of rustling wings, and suddenly there was a raven on his shoulder.

"Yes, it will be." Croaked the raven.

When George emerged from the shop, he found Annie and Mitchell glaring at him.

"You didn't buy anything from that barmy old codger, did you?" he asked.

"No, I didn't." said George, truthfully.

"Good. Let's go home, I'm knackered."

"But it's barely past noon!" George exclaimed.

"I'll see you guys there." Said Annie, disappearing with a pop.

"Well, that was rude!" Said Mitchell, annoyed.

"I'll say." Added George.

"Now, about those pretzels…" said Mitchell, holding out his hand.

Sighing, George gave him the whole five pound note.

The gang had a leisurely dinner, with George doing both the cooking and the cleaning up. After watching The Real Hustle, he went up to his room took off his dressing gown and slippers and crawled into bed. The gnomes on the walls gazed down at him with cheerfully evil expressions, and he wondered for the 50,000th time why he never changed the blasted wallpaper. He remembered the coin, and got up to fish it out of his jeans pocket and got back into bed. He turned the coin over and over in his hands staring at both the smiling human face and bestial lupine face. Just like him, a coin flipping over and over. Settling the coin on his thumb, he flipped it expertly into the air. The faces flashed at him rapidly, man…wolf…man…wolf…man…wolf…it almost gave the illusion that it was the same being rapidly changing expression. The coin seemed to take longer than it should have to come down, and even then in slow motion. George snatched the coin out of the air while sleepiness suddenly weighted down his lids. Blearily looking at the coin one more time, it seemed that now the human face was scowling, while the lupine face resembled an overeager puppy. As sleep claimed him, the coin fell from his outstretched hand, rolled across the floor and dropped neatly into a small crack between two boards.


	2. Chapter 2

George slept in late that day, and no amount of knocking or calling his name could wake him.

"George is always up before the rooster! What's going on?" asked Annie.

Mitchell shook his head. He was late for work, and it looked like George wasn't going in. He would have to make some excuse for him, or George might lose his job.

Mitchell grabbed some sandwiches that George had made the night before for his lunch and headed to the hospital. He wasn't there for five minutes when the last person in the world he wanted to see tapped him on the shoulder.

"Herrick."

"Hello Mitchell. Good to see you again. I see you've left the dog home today. I do hope he's housebroken."

Mitchell sighed.

"What do you want? I told you I'm off the blood, and I'm not playing your games anymore. The hospital is not going to be your personal blood bank either."

Herrick sighed.

"Don't be dull, Mitchell, you're better than this. Besides, I do come here for official business now and then. I am a police constable, you know. And your little sanctuary is safe, I've worked something else out with the Chief Inspector. He feels the prisons are overcrowded, and the courts are too lenient and has offered me a selection of the top criminals he'd like to see destroyed. But get this; he wants us to make them suffer! As if the pleasure wouldn't be all ours. He's remarkably forward thinking for a human, I may turn him yet. But if he calls me a ginger nut one more time, I'll show him what his insides look like...Oh, where was I? Ah yes. The hospital is officially off limits, Mitchell. We don't require it anymore."

Herrick's smile suddenly disappeared, and his face took on the look of the predator Mitchell knew him to be.

"But for the record, I do not care to be ordered around by someone I whelped a hundred years ago. You are going to learn respect and you are going to learn humility when you speak with me, Mitchell. I wanted to get you back the right way. I wore kid gloves with you...for you! No one would have gotten away with what you have. I must have a soft spot for you still! But you will come back to us, or else."

Mitchell's eyes scorched black.

"Or else what, Herrick? I'm not one of the newborns you cow so easily. I know you too well. You might be able to destroy me, but I wouldn't bet my life savings on it. You know what I'm capable of."

Herrick began to laugh.

"There you go again! If I wanted you dead, you would not be here! I want you _back_, Mitchell! And if it means I have to destroy your dog and your banshee and even your bloody flaming house, then I will do it! Without them, you will feed. And when you feed, you will be one step closer to home."

Herrick turned and walked out of the hospital, supremely confident in the hold he had over Mitchell.

George opened his eyes. Today was the beginning of a new era. Oh the plans within plans he would be devising! But first, a to-do list. George rose from the bed and left his bedroom, where he performed his morning ablutions, ending with a lengthy steamy hot shower. After he was done washing, he stood there under the spray, his hands up against the wall, letting the water scorch and burn his skin. It didn't feel painful, it felt wonderful! To feel anything on his skin after all of these years! Drunk on sensation, he might never leave the shower until the world itself ran dry. But then again, there were things to do. He remembered the first time he had emerged, when Spotty had been beating the life out of him. The rage he had felt at his alter ego's weakness was second only to the murderous fury he felt towards his attackers. But rage was a chaotic thing, and the original George's one passion was order, the one dominion where it was impossible to defeat him. George buried his fury for years until happenstance led to the acquisition of lycanthropy. A thing of chaos, as inevitable as the tide, George's mind fled from what it could not control and the dark half of George was free again. And what a freedom! The strength and power of the werewolf; an unstoppable killing machine whose only flaw was the decrease in intellect that accompanied the change. Well, that and only being let out one night a month. He was unaware of why the roles had been reversed, but he intended to make the most of it while he could. George's life was wretched. He had a miserable job, neurotic friends, and was forever dodging beatings by vampires when he wasn't hiding in the cellar or the woods. Well, all of that nonsense would soon be coming to an end. But oh, how he would miss the fangs and claws! The water turned cold, so George shut it off, sighing in pleasurable anticipation of the day. He rapidly shook his head back and forth, flinging water drops in all directions, and sent the shaking down through his body to dry off completely.

It wasn't working. He had a human body now.

He toweled off, left the towel on the floor and walked naked back to his bedroom. Annie was sitting on his bed, and she covered her face with her hands when she saw him.

"George Sands! You're not decent!"

He looked at her, flaring his nostrils to catch her scent. There was something fleeting…no, nothing. His nose wasn't working as well as it usually did. Or was it her? Yes, that's right, she was dead already. Like that other bloke, though he still had his body.

"I've got nothing to hide. If the sight is disagreeable, then leave. If it is pleasing, then stay." Said George.

"The sight is most definitely disagreeable!" Annie popped out of the room.

George fished around for clothing to wear, finding only jeans, sneakers, and a collection of horrid shirts that started plaid and took a nose dive from there.

He settled on a black pair of jeans, a solid black shirt and black socks. He examined several pairs of underwear before discarding them altogether. To his annoyance, the only shoes were white. Growling low in his throat, he laced them up and went downstairs. He growled in his throat when he noticed his sandwiches were missing. He took his coat and left the house, ignoring Annie who was glaring at him from the living room.

First item on the list: Track them down. This should be easy; tracking prey was a specialty of his.

George made numerous stops in the business district of Totterdown picking up an assortment of items he thought would be useful.

The monster in George had full access to all of his intellectual capacity. After stopping at an internet café, George soon had four addresses to follow up on, one of which was right here in town. George decided to visit that one first.

Knocking on the door, he was kept waiting for perhaps thirty seconds before it opened to reveal a small boy, about five years of age.

George smiled down at the lad.

"Is this the residence of a Mr. Shaun Baker?" he asked, showing a smile with way too many teeth in it.

The boy nodded.

"That's my daddy." He said, taking a quick drink from a sippy cup.

"Is he home?" asked George.

"Arthur!" called a voice from inside the house. "Who is that you're talking to?"

"Tell him my name is George." Said George.

The child did as requested.

"I don't know any George! Tell him to sod off."

George got down on one knee and looked the boy right in the eye.

"Tell your father he has my glasses. And I want them back."

Mitchell was paged to the front desk about an hour before his shift was about to end. The receptionist, a perky blond named Gail, handed him the phone.

Mitchell put the phone to his ear and was startled to hear Herrick laughing himself hoarse.

"What the devil?" he asked.

More laughter from Herrick.

Mitchell waited for about ten minutes and was about to hang up the phone when Herrick got out the word 'dog'.

Mitchell's hair stood on end.

"Herrick? What do you want?"

"We have your dog!" laughed Herrick.

"Damn it, Herrick, when I get down that funeral parlor-"

"He's not at the parlor! He's here (laughter) at the police station!"

Mitchell hung up the phone and fled the hospital. He had a very bad feeling about this.

Herrick met him at the front, having largely overcome his hysterics since speaking with Mitchell. He brought him to one of the questioning rooms, where Herrick assured him that the surveillance camera had been sabotaged for the day. After all, George couldn't be seen talking to two separate invisible people, could he?

George was wearing all black, which was odd enough. That the clothing was drenched in blood was terrifying. But the very worst thing was George himself. Instead of the raving gibbering nervous wreck Mitchell thought he would be under these conditions, he seemed totally calm and at ease. He was even smiling!

"Two down, three to go." Said George, by way of greeting.

What the hell did that mean?

"George, my dear friend, please tell Mitchell what you just told me." Said Herrick, patting George on the shoulder.

"Oh, you mean about the bloke what I dismembered in front of his own child?" said George.

"Yes, that." Said Herrick.

"See, Mitchell, there was this bloke. I dismembered him. In front of his own child!" said George. 'Then I ate most of him."

Mitchell pinched himself. This could absolutely not be happening.

"Um, why did you do that, George?" asked Mitchell.

"Lets just say that I am really good at holding grudges. But I actually ate him because SOMEONE pinched my sandwiches this morning." He responded.

Herrick sat across from George, and looked at him as though he were admiring a work of art.

"You know, I have no love for you lycos, but I was really impressed with your technique. Even Mitchell in his heyday never lost himself to such brutal savagery. You think you'll be doing that again?"

George nodded his head.

"I have a short list of people who will soon wish they'd never been born, after that I'll freelance I suppose."

Herrick shook his head admiringly.

"No remorse whatsoever. And I can hear his heartbeat! You would think he was talking about nipping down to the pub! Lord, if it were possible to turn a lyco into a vampire, I wouldn't need you anymore Mitchell."

"That does bring up my next point, Sgt. Herrick. If you would be so kind to put the word out that hostilities against me should cease and desist, I would greatly appreciate it." Said George, a thin edge of threat in his tone.

"Certainly, my boy. And we'll clear up all this nonsense and get you released. Can't have you in here during a full moon, or the game would be up!"

"Herrick, you can't let him back on the street like this, he'll hurt someone! Several someones, it sounds like."

Both George and Herrick laughed at him at this point.

"I tell you George, if you only knew him way back when. But now…(laughter)" Herrick could no longer speak.

George's normally warm blue eyes were now cruel and full of derision.

"Why do you keep him around then? Doesn't he ruin your reputation, confuse the newborns, that sort of thing? In wolf packs, when you have a runt, you let it starve. Looks like he's doing a good job on himself though…"

Herrick thought for a minute and shook his head.

"I don't know! Why do we keep you around Mitchell?"

Mitchell's blood chilled. Is this what they really called him down here for? Not to collect George, but to trap and stake him? But this was the bloody police station! No, they wouldn't try anything here. Mitchell would watch his back at any rate. But what the hell was up with George?

"I'm leaving Herrick. If you are getting chummy with him, then he's your problem now."

"I'm going to have to leave too, Sgt. Herrick." Said George standing up. "I will have to…_invite_ you over one of these nights!" said George, winking.

"Now that is an invitation I would love to accept my boy! Get along then, I have to see what miserable orphanage I'm going to stick the kid into. Any reason you didn't finish him off too, and save me some paperwork?" asked Herrick.

"I was full." replied George, and Herrick was off on another tirade of laughter.

Herrick gave George a black trenchcoat to cover his bloody clothing with, and they left the police station.

Without another word, George walked off quickly in the opposite direction from their home. Mitchell stared after him, then turned towards home.

George went into a clothing store and bought a replacement outfit for the one he was wearing (with black shoes this time!), dumping the old ones in the furnace of an apartment building. He took the train to London, and was before long knocking on the door of Gordon Stotch.

Balding, now wearing glasses himself and with a lovely rheumatic cough to boot, he exclaimed in surprise when George told him who he was.

"No way! Sands! That you?" he exclaimed.

"In the flesh! Which brings me to why I wanted to see you…"

George shoved the surprised man backward into his own home, and quickly shut the door behind them.

Afterwards, when he was showered in the dead man's bathroom and putting his clothes back on (George had removed them when things looked like they were going to get messy), he left the house and made his way back to Totterdown. He had taken the precaution of sewing the man's mouth shut this time, to avoid the screams attracting the local police.

George arrived at the funeral parlor that doubled as the vampire's hideout, and stepped inside to find Lauren at the front desk, looking bored. She brightened when she saw George, getting up to slink over to him. She traced one finger down his shirt front, and then suddenly grabbed him by the neck and lifted him up the wall.

He looked down at her calmly.

"You know, I really hate when people do that. If I were you, I'd put me down. _Now._" Despite the predatory thrill rushing through Lauren's body, she was a bit taken aback by the directness of George's gaze, and the absolute flat confidence in his voice. But Lauren was pretty confident herself.

"No, I think we are going to have a little fun, you and me. I've always wanted a pet. Maybe they'll let me keep you, and I can take you out for walks. I think I have a leash that might fit."

Lauren noticed distractedly that her hand was beginning to burn. She dropped George, who landed neatly on his feet. He opened the top button of his shirt to reveal about two dozen Stars of David around his neck.

"Can you imagine that no one has ever thought of this before?" said George as he approached Lauren, her strength draining away with each passing second. Soon, George was looking down at her immobile and frightened face as she struggled to escape, to scream for the others, to move goddamnit, all to no avail.

With horror, she saw George pull a spray seltzer bottle out of his jacket pocket.

"The priest told me no one had ever asked him to bless carbonated water." He held the nozzle over her face, the lethal medallions jangling together as he took his time trying to figure the best angle for the spray. He pulled the trigger, and Lauren shrieked once before her face, her head, and finally her body dissolved into a muddy ash pile on the newly hovered carpet.

"Slag." He said by way of a eulogy.

He stuffed the bottle back into his jacket, and met no resistance as he penetrated Herrick's inner sanctum to greet the charismatic vampire elder.

"Sorry, but your receptionist is looking for a new opening. In Hell." Said George.

"Oh, no worries, she was a bit high maintenance, though she was easy on the eyes. What brings you here?"

"I understand you have grand plans for the world. I was wondering where I fit into them. Just thinking about the future." Said George.

"I see. And you are wondering what place a lyco would have in a vampire dominated world. If you were any other person, I would say none. I have always felt your kind were an abomination."

"That's odd, as we have the same employer. Lycos and vampires are both supernatural creatures, why shouldn't we feed together on our common prey?"

Herrick shook his head.

"That's precisely the point, we have the same food source. We don't want to compete."

Now George shook his head.

"No, we don't. You are after the blood, we want the flesh. I think we can come to an arrangement."  
Herrick cocked his head at George.

"Who is this 'we' you keep talking about?"

"The werewolves I will call to my side, plus the ones I will create when I find the right sort of blokes to give the gift to."

Herrick's eyebrows went up.

"So, like me, you want to lead a cadre of your own kind? A werewolf with vision! Even if I agreed with your plan, I doubt I could make other vampires forego hunting them down."

"Have you ever seen a lyco transform?" asked George softly.

Herrick shuddered.

"Yes, I have. I hope never to see it again.

"To me it is the biggest indication that the world is ruled by gods that are as powerful as they are cruel. And what did the dark gods have in mind when they created monsters like us? To promote world peace? They want chaos and bloodshed, pain and misery, terror and carnage. Destroying the lyco population, despite your best intentions, will decrease those things and so defy the will of these dark gods. I would worry about how they would retaliate."

"And your incontrovertible proof that these gods are active in the world?" asked Herrick, annoyed and fascinated at the same time.

"My new outlook on life for one thing." Said George, smiling coldly, hands laced behind his head.

Herrick nodded his head gravely.

"I suppose you have a point of sorts. It is hard to remember sometimes that there is always something out there with bigger fangs than you. I have seen things over the course of my existence that make me wonder…but very well. I will see if a truce can be worked out between our mutual races. It will be rough going, and some of the old timers will drag their feet."

"But the alternative will be war…and that's just silly."

"Especially with you leading such an army. I do not want you as my enemy."

"The feeling is mutual. I think we can do great things together. After I tend to my personal matters, I should deal with Mitchell. You'd like him turned back around to our way of thinking, right? I'll see if that can perhaps be done. A gesture of goodwill."

"That would be most greatly appreciated, George. I'm afraid I have run out of ideas."

"No worries. I'm _made_ of ideas."

George got up to leave, shook Herrick's hand, and left. It had been a long day. It was time to go home and get some rest.

He hoped he wouldn't have to deal with that pesky ghost again. He was starting to get some ideas about her as well.


	3. Chapter 3

George arrived home, threw off his clothes and plopped down into his bed. He was asleep within seconds. He awoke to find himself being prodded thoroughly by an insistent finger between the shoulder blades. He swung his arm backward in a sudden movement and connected solidly with a reformed vampire.

"You flaming git! What the hell did you do that for?" asked Mitchell, clutching his nose.

"You should see what I do to my alarm clocks." replied George. He stood up and stretched his back, moaning pleasurably at the crackling sounds coming from his spine.

Except his spine was crackling way more than it was supposed to. A lightning bolt of pain shot up his back and into his brain. George shrieked and fell to his hands and knees.

The bloody and flaming full moon! It was tonight! NOW!

Mitchell was still shouting while he backed out of the room.

"Your change is coming! I thought you'd have locked yourself up by now, I can't believe you almost slept through it! You'll have to do it in here, there's no time to go anywhere else!"

George paid absolutely no attention to any of this. The pain wracking his body took away speech. It was more than just the transformation, the true pain came from something inside him awakening and fighting for control. The dark side of George bore down with all his will though he knew it was futile (he had capitalized on said futility in the past). But his other half now had the moon on his side, and she was a terrible and powerful ally. With a last psychic wail, the dark half was submerged even as his human body vanished into the shape of the beast. Mitchell closed the bedroom door behind him as he escaped George's room, but he knew it would be seconds until the wolf had broken free and devoured him. Mitchell fled down the stairs where Annie wrung her hands, forgetting in her fright that she was immune to physical attack. They heard the crash of the door giving way, then the colossal thumps as the beast raced across the floor and hurtled down the steps. The beast tackled Mitchell to the ground, and all of his undead strength was as nothing to the enormous wolf on top of him. Mitchell barely had time for one last anguished shriek before the huge fanged maw creaked wide and...

...slobbered werewolf drool all over Mitchell's face. When Mitchell's head was soaking wet with it, George jumped off, spun around in circles chasing his tail then sat on his haunches panting, red tongue lolling out looking for all the world like he was expecting a milk bone.

Mitchell and Annie stared bewildered at the beast that by all rights should be tearing the place apart. Annie cautiously approached him, a strange expression on her face.

"George?"

George barked, and she shrieked and jumped back.

"This is not possible!" Mitchell said under his breath.

"I've almost been expecting it. George has been off ever since our outing, if you could call killing and maiming being "off". It's almost like the evil part of him bled into his human half. So where would that leave good old George? With the wolf. This is magic, Mitchell, and three guesses who's responsible."

"Well it was either the antique dealer or the kebab salesman. I thought that kebab tasted funny." Mitchell was only joking, a side effect of the shock wearing off.

"We have to ask him how he became like this. But how can we? He can't talk!"

A loud bark startled them both.

"Can you understand us, George?" asked Mitchell.

George barked again.

"Right, one bark for yes, two for no."

George barked once more.

Annie and Mitchell looked at each other.

"We need to test if it's really George and if he understands us." Mitchell whispered.

Annie cleared her throat.

"George, walk into the loo and come back out again."

"Why the bloody loo?" asked Mitchell.

George padded into the bathroom, but didn't come back out. They heard the sink tap come on, and splashing sounds. When they peeked in, the wolf was running its paws under the sink faucet.

"George can't leave a bathroom without washing his hands. Its him." she said confidently.

Mitchell rolled his eyes.

Annie got out the Scrabble game, and arranged an alphabet in front of the wolf. George sniffed a tile and tried to eat one when Annie swatted him on the head.

"No! Bad wolf! Those are to help you talk to us!" she scolded.

George whined and lay flat on the floor looking ashamed.

Mitchell thought he must be losing his mind. It was too surreal.

The question and answer session took hours. Through yes/no questions, and a few requiring him to spell with tiles, Annie and Mitchell were able to piece together George's last memories.

"The coin. Where is it?" asked Mitchell.

George lay flat on the floor again.

"Bollocks!" shouted Mitchell.

Annie searched George's room, and aside from an old E-Z Bake oven buried in his keepsake chest, nothing of interest turned up, though she spent the whole night looking.

About an hour before moonset, George started whining and pacing in circles.

Mitchell knew why that was. One more hour and that psycho would be back.

"Annie, I don't think we should be here when he turns back. I'm not sure he expected this result, and he will probably be very angry about it."

George whined pityingly, turning it at the end into the most despairing howl they ever heard.

"Well, at least Timmy's not stuck down a mineshaft." said Annie.

"What?"

"Nevermind."

Annie knelt down beside George.

"I promise, we will do everything we can to fix this. Please don't worry."

George stood up and frantically pawed tiles into a brief sentence.

"What's the matter? Is he still worried about his dark half?" said Mitchell, looking down at his best friend in the world, now man's best friend.

Annie read the tiles.

"He needs to visit the little boy's room."

Sighing, Mitchell let George out into the back yard.

George barked frantically as Annie and Mitchell left the flat, and made their way back to the side street the antique store was located in. It took them sometime to find it, as it seemed to blend in with the wall and only be visible out of the corner of his eye.

Mitchell tried the door, and it was locked. Annie sighed, and closed her eyes, projecting herself on the other side of the door. She opened them, startled to realize she was still outside. She tried again, in vain. She tried to phase herself through the door, but its insistent solidity defied her.

"Mitchell, I can't get through. Who is this bloke? Who runs a cursed antique store? Thats like something out of a bad horror movie or tv show."

The door opened suddenly, making them both jump. The old man stood there, smoking his pipe.

"Can I help you? Ah, two of my customers from the other day. Come in. Did you change your mind about purchasing something from my shop?" He disappeared into the back of the store.

Annie and Mitchell followed him in.

"We know what you did to George with that coin. Do you know where he is now? He just spent the night with his human mind in the body of a werewolf, dreading moonset because a serial killer is going to be taking over his body for the next 28 days!" Annie stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at the old man. About two dozen antiques flew off the shelves as if taking refuge from the sound of her voice. Oddly, though her poltergeist power had demolished most of their dishes in their own home, not a single antique broke or became damaged in any way.

"George is the nicest bloke! You ruined his life! Why would you do that? He told us you tried to get him to cheat you, as some sort of test. Obviously he passed, and you still shafted him!" This was from Mitchell, his eyes scorched black and his fangs extended as he gave vent to his anger.

The man seemed not at all put out by the displays of supernatural abilities from the two flatmates. He puffed on his pipe some more.

"The dark half of George clings to existence due to an event that happened to him when he was a child. Much like you, Anna Clare Sawyer, it is this unresolved issue that taints his existence; it fuels George's rage every month when he transforms. As a wolf, this dark half has no hope of finding his tormentors and destroying them. Three are dead, while two remain alive. If George's dark half can find and destroy them, it will have no reason to exist, and it will take the wolf with it. Your friend can be _cured_ John Mitchell, at the cost of two lives, neither of which the world will miss. If your friend had cheated me, the coin would have brought him nothing but despair. Since it was given to him freely, its magic may just allow him to be truly free of his curse. I cannot tell you how rarely a curse ends. I have not seen it happen, and I have been here since before your race had thumbs."

Mitchell shook his head.

"George would never want it that way. He would be eaten alive with guilt for the rest of his life. He would wish he'd lived a thousand years as a werewolf rather than be cured through murder. He would rather die."

The old man shook his head. "You don't know your friend very well. All beings are two sided coins, a mixture of good and evil, and only fate determines which half of the coin lands face up in the end. The two sides are more..._separate_ in George Sands than in anyone else I've seen, but there is evil in him to balance the good. You knew him as a polite, self-effacing, self-sacrificing idealistic martyr, and now you know his evil. Evil far darker than yours, Mitchell, and even your friend William Herrick. Evil that can be destroyed forever, in just a short time... when he finishes what he needs to do. Would George turn down the opportunity to _kill_ his beast just to save some grown up bullies? Don't be daft. However, I cannot have unsatisfied customers, so if George freely returns the coin to me before the last two are dead, I will undo everything that has been done, leaving him in the same state he was before he came into my shop. This offer lasts for thirty days from the time he received it."

"Thirty days? That will be the next full moon, and he'll be transformed! How's he going to return the coin to you in that state?" demanded Mitchell.

"That, my friends, is your problem." said the old man.

There was the sound of rustling wings, and Mitchell and Annie had the sudden sensation of being dive bombed by dozens of invisible birds. They instinctively threw their hands up in front of their faces, but when no attack came they looked up to find themselves outside. Only a blank brick wall remained where the storefront had been.

George woke up naked and alone. He snarled and got to his feet. This aspect of his condition had caught him unawares, and he wondered what the wolf had been doing with Annie and Mitchell the whole night.

Looking down at the scattered scrabble tiles, he guessed that Annie and Mitchell now knew more than was good for him. He had little time to waste. There were places to go, and people to kill. After getting dressed without bothering to shower, George took a train to Cardiff, Wales. The trip was long, but his mind worked ceaselessly the whole time, worrying if the two meddlesome creatures could actually see their way to ending his fun. He really should have gotten rid of them first, but the need to destroy his tormentors was overwhelming. He literally could not think beyond that, especially now when his time might be running out.

At a tiny cottage in the middle of the countryside, George knocked on the door, kneeling for a moment to inspect a bit of dung he'd stepped on in this godforsaken wasteland. The shotgun blast that tore a hole through the door would have done the same to his head had he been standing. Growling, he kicked the door open while a portly man worked frantically to reload the inefficient weapon. George snatched the gun out of Thomas Cartwright's pudgy hands.

"It's you! I knew it! When Stotch and Baker turned up dead, I knew you'd be coming for me next! You blackhearted bastard, you didn't need to kill them! We were only children!" he shouted, his face blotchy and red from years of drinking. Of the five bullies, he had nursed the most guilt over the incident...and the biggest fear that a day like this would come.

"What you bullies never seem to learn, is that your victims have vivid fantasies about your horrible deaths. So vivid, in fact, that they come to life. And now...for your horrible death." George hissed out between his teeth.

George swung the shotgun like a club, connecting it solidly with the side of Cartwright's head. Cartwright was likely dead before the third blow shattered his skull completely, and already receiving his Eternal Reward on the other side of a mysterious door while George continued to strike the corpse until there was not a single piece of solid bone left in it. Sweat flew from his face as he worked, and although his features were contorted into an expression of inhuman fury, the sound that came from his mouth was nothing less than hysterical laughter.

On the way back to Bristol, George fell deeply asleep, exhausted by his efforts. The train conductor almost failed to wake him in time for his stop, and George gave him a lengthy stare and a low growl for his efforts. Stumbling off the train, he sat down on the cobbles, leaning up against a nearby building. Why was he so tired? It was almost as if his energy were being sapped somehow. No matter, he would see the final task completed if he had to crawl through Hell itself to do it. But first, the flatmates...

George arrived home and made a quick phone call, informing Herrick of an idea he had for Mitchell. Herrick agreed to arrange matters and hung up while George plodded up to bed, falling into a coma that lasted for twelve hours. When he woke up, he was startled to see that he was not in his room, but rather a smelly chamber deep underground in what he realized from his blurry memories of the place was the hospital room his other half had always transformed in. The door had been modified to include a 'meal panel' similar to those in prison cell doors, and was now locked on the outside.

George groaned. He should have seen something like this coming. However, the thought that Herrick would throw a monkey wrench into Mitchell's plans made him smile. After he was dealt with, sooner or later, someone would come down here to investigate, and then George would be free again.


	4. Chapter 4

They grabbed Mitchell right after he left the hospital. They must have been waiting for a few hours, wondering what the hell he'd been doing in there all this time. He wasn't working a shift, nor was he visiting a patient. The vampires didn't realize, of course, that Mitchell was just seeing that George had gotten all settled in to his new temporary home with plenty of food and sanitary supplies to make his stay comfortable. Mitchell had expected George to go berserk, but the devil masquerading in his best friend's body just smirked through the peephole at Mitchell and advised him to look over his shoulder now and then. As Mitchell was loaded into the back of a waiting van, he realized it was advice he should have followed.

Another trip to the funeral parlor. The thought almost bored him. Was this the purgatorial cycle he was doomed to live out with Herrick, the pleading and begging to come back to the fold interspersed with kidnapping and dire threats. Mitchell wondered if he ought to put paid to Herrick, once and for all. He obviously wasn't going to let up any time soon. Seth was driving, he could smell that much through the sack cloth over his head. Yanking it off and running his fingers through his hair, he looked around at the other vampire Seth had brought along.

"You must be new." he said by way of conversation.

The new vampire grinned at him, saying nothing.

"Please, let me get a word in edgewise." Mitchell looked out the window and realized that they were heading in the opposite direction from the funeral parlor.

"This is new. Has Herrick found new digs, hoping to impress me?"

Seth spoke up. "You might say that. John Mitchell, you are hereby under arrest for the crimes of giving up blood, bad taste in friends, and being an utter piss head. Your sentence is one night in a cage with some human murderer armed with stakes who will kill you unless you feed from him."  
Mitchell started. "What? You can't be serious!"

Seth was deadly serious. Mitchell was brought to a warehouse in which a giant cage had been set up surrounded by bleachers. Vampires and the few policemen who were on the payroll of the undead sat around cheering at the giant caveman like throwback that stalked around the cage, shouting unintelligibly and shaking the bars. A large number of sharpened wooden staves mesuring in length from four to 15 feet long, littered the ground. The beast of a man had already armed himself with the largest of them, and was waving it around viciously, making stabbing motions in every direction. Mitchell's throat went dry. Herrick and the Chief Inspector waved at him as Seth and the nameless vampire tossed Mitchell into a smaller cage attached to the larger one via a double door system. When the inner door was opened, Mitchell would have to face his gargantuan opponent. Herrick came over to chat with him.

"I can't believe I never thought of this. Leave it to that lyco friend of yours to come up with something this ingenious. He called it the 'Law of the Jungle'. Kill or be killed, Mitchell. We get you back, and reduce overcrowding in the prisons at the same time."

"I won't do it. Even if I have to kill this bloke, I won't drink from him. I'm not even sure he has a neck anyway!" Mitchell had a sinking feeling Herrick would have an answer for him.

"Oh, no worries. If he injures you badly enough, you'll feed or die. Even if you kill him without a scratch, we have about seven more like him waiting for a chance, and more in the weeks to come. We tell them they go free if they can stake you. In about six months, or say, a hundred drainings, I'll believe you are sufficiently reformed to release you. In the mean time, I'll be charging for each fight and even putting it on Vampire Cable. I'll be rich! And all thanks to you...and George. Where is he, by the way? He wanted to be here."

"No clue. Probably off murdering someone else." Mitchell lied.

"That's a shame. I hope you last long enough for him to be here. Just think what great friends we could all be, once you go back to your old ways!"

Herrick waved his hand, and Mitchell turned at the sound of the inner door opening. Goliath awaited. As he entered the cage, the giant leveled the stake at Mitchell's chest and charged, letting out an almost bestial roar.

Annie had just about decided that Mitchell had been gone too long at exactly the same moment he was facing his first opponent. She popped to the room in the hospital basement where they were keeping George. She flipped open the meal receptacle lid and shrieked as George's arm shot through it, grabbing her by her grey cardigan. Annie reflexively blinked across the room.

"It's the cocking ghost." she heard George moan. He withdrew his arm and peeked at her through the slot.

Annie quelled the terror she felt being in the presence of George's dark half, and tried to speak without cracking her voice.

"Um, George, how long ago did Mitchell leave?" she asked firmly.

A series of low throaty chuckles escaped George's throat. The sheer bubbling evil in that laugh made her want to pop right back home again.

"It's begun." he said. Annie waited for more, but he had nothing more to say.

"Something's happened to him, then? Something you had planned for him before he locked you in here? Tell me, and maybe we can work something out." Her voice held again, thank goodness.

"Tell me something first. How does it feel, knowing that Owen is alive and well and getting laid. He tossed your rather plump body down a flight of stairs and moved on right quick. Janey Harris is also alive and well. Could it be that Owen isn't a psychopath, but that any man would have put you out of his misery after living with you for six months? You can't tell with Mitchell or myself. We're already killers. That's three for three now, isn't it? All of the men in your life have committed murder! Was your father a murderer too? Or just..." George's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Or just a wife beater? A pedophile! He despoiled his little princess, did he? And it turned you into the steaming mess I see before me."

Annie turned away from him. Had she been alive, she would have been crying a river of tears. Something inside her, perhaps her soul, was curling up and dying as she listened to crueler words than had ever been spoken to her before. George chuckled some more.

"Yes, that's it. How cliché. How utterly...boring. Your entire personality is a book that's three pages long, written about a thousand years ago. By an idiot! It is amazing. Even in death, you can't give up the bad boys, no matter what abuse they heap on top of you. Look at you, standing there while I pick apart your sanity and you do absolutely nothing -"

Annie whirled, sending every ounce of power she contained at the thing trapped in the cell. The door imploded inward, practically vaporizing under the concentrated force she directed at it. George flew across the room and smacked hard into the far wall. He landed in a heap and was still.

Annie shrieked, and ran into the cell. George's head was bleeding, but not very much. It ran down one side if his face like a half-mask. His breathing was steady. Annie let loose a sigh of relief. As she looked around the room, she realized that George had taken his bed apart and propped the mattress against the wall directly across from the door. It must have cushioned the impact, which meant -

George's hand suddenly seized her by the throat, and he came to his feet in one motion still holding her by the neck. Blood covered the left half of his face, giving him a nightmarish appearance, as if the two halves of his being had been stitched together somehow.

"So that's why people always do that throat grabbing thing. It does feel good. Thank you, Annie, for once again being so goddamned predictable!" He tossed her to the floor, and fled the room, a monster on the loose. Annie lay there. It was too much. Deceit and betrayal always did her in, and something inside her had just broken. She had no will to move or even think. There was too much hurt, a lifetime, more than a lifetime. The flame inside her that had kept her _presence_ together, beyond the grave itself, finally sputtered out to leave behind nothing but a small pile of cold ash. Annie's form on the floor of the cell faded slowly away, as if she had never been.

Mitchell's reflexes and vampire strength were barely keeping him alive. The behemoth was incredibly strong for a human, almost a match for a vampire. But Mitchell was preternaturally fast, and the few wounds he'd already received came from sheer luck as his opponent jabbed in all directions, howling in rage. The vampires and police in the audience were exchanging money rapidly as they laid odds on the outcome of the fight. Mitchell wondered blearily which fighter they were betting on. He knew who he would have picked if he'd been on the outside.

Another lucky jab stabbed into the meat of his right thigh. Mitchell screamed and leapt backward, landing on his good leg and using it to spring himself up and onto the giant's back. He had not even planned to do this, it was pure adrenaline...or whatever passed for that in a vampire's system. He also realized he was in a prime position to quickly sink his fangs into the back of the giant's neck. His eyes were already scorched black, and his teeth shot to their full length at the sight of the sweat covered furry patch of skin in front of him. How pleasing it would be to clamp his jaws down and work his teeth into the ropey muscle until he hit one of the major veins and ripped it open. He thought about the blood the way a man in the desert heat would look at a tall glass of water, choked with ice and a little lemon wedge notched onto the rim. Mitchell's open mouth was drooling, and the deed was nearly done when he stopped himself. With the clarity that let him resist the blood thirst came the desertion of the fighting instincts that had gained him this perch in the first place. As if sensing weakness, one of the giant's hands came up and plucked him off like an annoying insect, and hurled him across the length of the cage.

Landing on his back, Mitchell considered his rapidly dwindling options in the rapidly dwindling time he had left to consider them. 'Law of the Jungle' he thought to himself. Kill or be killed. Mitchell saw Herrick shaking his head, laughing and clapping the Chief Inspector on the back. Cold fury boiled up in him. Mitchell thought it was time to let loose his own dark side. The giant was charging again, he was coming in for the kill. Mitchell's thoughts raced faster than he could follow them. He had not asked to be put into this position, and he was not quite ready to die just yet. He rolled to his feet, grabbed up a nearby stave, and swung its point around. This wasn't going to be a kill, it was going to be a _massacre._ He was going to show these jaded arseholes what it meant to screw with Captain John Mitchell.

Mitchell's vampire mind calculated the necessary timing, angles and force needed to accomplish what he had in mind in a millisecond. The giant's charged carried him right into the point of Mitchell's stave. It did not penetrate his neck, chest or stomach, the usual targets of such an attack. Mitchell's stave was aimed slightly lower. By the time the pain of the giant's castration registered in his brain, Mitchell was already heaving the stave upward, taking the giant with it in what seemed to be the worlds most painful pole vault. The giant slammed into the wall of the cage just as the stave itself achieved a perfect vertical. A choked and high pitched scream came from it, and from the audience as well when gravity began doing the sadistic job of pulling the behemoth down along its length, shoving the remains of his genitals farther and farther through his body cavity until the width of the stave prevented any further movement. Mitchell bet they had never seen a kebab like this before.

He turned and bowed to the cheering crowd, and some newbie vampire passed him a wireless microphone through the bars of the cage.

"And that trick, ladies and gentleman, I learned from Vlad the Impaler himself." Mitchell handed back the microphone, and delighted the crowd further by clamping his teeth into the meaty calf on one of the giant's dangling legs. The rush of blood overwhelmed him. It washed away all of the aches and pains, closed his wounds, and gave him an almost sexual feeling of release. Once again he felt the sheer ease with which he could take life, and the thought of how little life must mean. Human lives were like matches. So quickly spent, doing perhaps one useful thing if they were lucky. The best thing you could do for them was offer an interesting death, so they'd have conversation material with the stick and rope bearing men on the other side.

Herrick himself came to let him out of the cage, and the two embraced like old friends.

"I knew you had it in you! That was bloody outstanding!" Herrick was screaming over the still cheering crowd.

Herrick turned, and whooped again at the sight of George entering the warehouse. He had a sardonic smile on his face, a bandage on his head, and staggered as though drunk. He stumbled along towards them, though he never actually fell. When Herrick had finally seated him between himself and Mitchell, George was able to get out some slurred words.

"I mished all the fun! Mishell! How'd you do? Four down and one to go!" he said, nearly falling off his seat.

"I did fine George, thanks to you. You really helped me, mate." Mitchell slapped George on the back, causing him to smack his head into the two vampires sitting in the row below him.

"Hey!" George shouted. "Didn't you beat me up once?"

Seth turned and sneered at the drunken werewolf.

"Yeah, and I'd bloody love to do it again."

Herrick looked stern. "Now, now Seth, I told you that George and all lycos are off limits. I am a man of my word.

"I think he was talking to me." said the other vampire. Mitchell recognized him as his second kidnapper. He had never gotten his name.

Herrick looked confused.

"What do you mean, Nicholas?"

"I beat this twerp up when I was a kid. I heard he's been on a vengeance trail, and that all of my old mates are dead. If he wants a piece of me, I'll take him in that cage right now and sort him out."

George laughed.

"No wanna fight! Wanna be friends! Forgive and forget!" he shouted.

George gathered both Nicholas Battersby and Seth into a group hug, much to their annoyance, though whether it was at his lyco smell or drunken breath no one was sure.

George mumbled something.

"Eh?" said a revolted Nicholas.

"Broccoli and peanutbutter." said George again. With that he vomited a massive amount frothy red liquid all over the two vampires who screamed in unison.

Herrick roared with laughter, but quieted suddenly as he realized that the two vampires were rapidly dissolving into a puddle of slime.

"Ye gods. I had no idea werewolf stomach acid was so powerful!" Herrick exclaimed.

George was rapidly recovering from his stupor.

"It's not. I just drank an enormous amount of holy wine before I got here. Five down, none to go! Hurrah!"

George's eyes suddenly lost focus and he sagged to the ground. As the amazed group watched, a black cloud seemed to boil up out of the young man's body, taking the shape of an enormous wolf. A growl that made even the hardened vampires feel a chill in their spines emerged from the cloud even as it began to dissipate, the growl sounding as if its source were suddenly carried away in some unguessable direction as the smoke dispersed.

Herrick was stunned. "Did we...did we just see a lyco get cured? I never thought...Oh well, just goes to show you that if you live long enough you eventually see everything!"

George stood up and rubbed his eyes.

"Bloody hell, where are my glasses?" he said.

"No worries George. You won't need them where you're going." said Mitchell, clapping a hand on his back.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: I've noticed other authors doing dedications, and I thought that I'd dedicate this story to my # 1 fan, BaneLupine (Sarah) for providing me with consistent support, lovely reviews and the drive to visit the Being Human Universe yet again. This one was all for you. I hope you find it worthy. Thanks again!

Annie came to on the floor of the pink walled flat on Windsor Terrace. She lay sprawled on the floor of the foyer in exactly the position she'd died in. After all, where else would she go? She lay there for a few minutes more, able to move but lacking the will to do it just yet. _'I have to be the only ghost who's died twice.'_ she thought dully. What does that say about me? That it's my fault I'm always being made a victim? Annie knew that the old George would sooner have slit his own throat than said those things to her...which is why the new George took such delight in doing so. His insight into her personality and her past, though part of his way of tricking her into freeing him, nonetheless had been correct on many points. This did not change the fact that he was an unrepentantly evil bastard, it just meant he was an insightful one. And yet...was it right to blame a victim for the things she'd suffered? For the choices tragedy had led her to make?

"_Yessssss. It isssssss right... if the victim learnsssss... nothing."_

Annie started and sat up. Where the hell had that voice come from?

The voice came from upstairs. The place she had fallen from, no _been thrown_ from was obscured in shadow. Annie thought she saw a pair of reptilian eyes appear briefly, and some sense of _things_ moving around up there. She slid backward until her back was against the front door.

"Wh-who-what are you?" she asked.

A harsh hissing, _multiple_ harsh hissings echoed down to her.

"_Sssssstand, woman! Ssssstop cringing or I'll give you sssssomething to be sssscared of!"_

Annie tried to gain her feet and failed. She tried again, and succeeded, barely. She clutched the doorknob for support, noting bleakly that it failed to turn in her hand, as if it were a prop. She knew without knowing how that trying to teleport would fail...and enrage the being that spoke to her from the darkness. The shadows grew, flowing down the stairs as the being descended three steps and stopped. While it was still hidden, Annie was able to make out that it was a tall humanoid figure, likely female if that scary as hell voice was any indication.

Annie was dreadfully afraid. She felt that if the creature revealed itself, her mind would not be able to tolerate the sight. It might not destroy her being, but it could...it would drive her forever mad. Even as a ghost, she was constantly threatened. When did it end?

"_IT ENDSSSS WHEN YOU MAKE IT END!"_ screeched the voice.

Annie shrieked and ran into the kitchen. The light in there exploded, and she suddenly faced the creature again. It was in the kitchen, by the window. The dim light from the outside penetrated the shadows somewhat, and Annie saw once again the reptilian eyes...and the snakes in the thing's hair. It burbled and chuckled at her fright. Evil George would have understood that laugh. Its true countenance remained hidden. The thing growled, and every street light outside popped, leaving it in unrelieved darkness once more.

"_Find your fury, woman, or the thingssss you love will be dessssstroyed!"_

Against her will, Annie saw in her mind's eye a kaleidoscope of rapid fire images; her worst memories throughout her life and death. Her abuse at the hands of her father, her boyfriends up to and including Owen, George's treatment of her, Tully, Herrick,...all of them, smiling their huge smiles with their huge teeth and dead eyes...over and over and over again. A lifetime of weakness. A lifetime of pain. A lifetime of wretched, miserable abuse from people that she had never done any wrong to. Some of them she had loved.

Enough.

ENOUGH.

"_ENOUGH!"_

Her shout woke up every man, woman and child in the neighborhood. Apart from the volume, which was enough to shatter every pane of glass in the house as well as every dish, crockery and knickknack that could be broken, Annie's anguished scream wrought havoc throughout Windsor Terrace; the scream of the victim they failed to hear when her life was extinguished was now inescapable. The volume just went up and up, past all hearing. A ripple spread outward from the pink house, a ripple in the fabric of reality itself. Her power did far more than toss things about; in every home where a man lived that had struck a woman in anger, that man was inflicted with lifelong sterility and impotence. Milk soured, dogs and cats went mad, and the small condemned church on the next block imploded into a dusty ruin. And still the wave spread outward, its effect lessening only slightly with distance. Somewhere, in a dark antique shop, a little old man puffed rapidly on his pipe.

"Hmph. SHE'S in town. Figures she'd interfere in matters not her concern."

The old man was powerful, if the three flatmates had known just how powerful, if they had known who he truly was, they would have fled at the mere sight of his shop.

He was perhaps powerful enough to face and repel (for a time - a brief one) the One who now spoke with Annie Sawyer. Perhaps.

But he decided he would rather not risk it.

"Chicken." said a raven on his shoulder.

Annie opened her eyes, and it was as if she saw clearly for the first time in her...existence. And she was furious. Anger was a sea without end within her.

Her gaze penetrated the shadows surrounding her visitor. Her lip curled in contempt.

"You."

_"ME." _it replied.

"I guess, historically, you were the first woman killed by a man."

"_A man that I had done no harm to, a man who killed me for hissss own ssselfissh reassonsss."_

"What should I call you? Med-"

The thing suddenly screeched.

"_SSSSSPEAK NOT THAT NAME!"_

"I'll call you Sarah, then. After my sister. Why are you here, Sarah?" Annie's voice was even and firm.

"_To rousssse your fury. I am not the Power I once wassss. Once I could sssstop armiessss of men in their tracksssss. Now I am the darknesss in all women, darknesssss men could never dream about. Now...when I sssensse a woman who needssss me...a woman who mussst ssstand againssst an army...I come. Thissss is my revenge. Your vampire has become a beasst.. He hasss rejoined hissss brotherssss. Your werewolf iss in danger, they will desssstroy him. If you wissssh to sssave them, you musssst go to them now."_

"Why are you helping me?" Annie asked. She suddenly felt that the spirit was right. Time was of the essence. But this whole thing had started because some supernatural being had decided to screw with them, and Annie was not so eager to fall into the next trap.

"_Help you? I never sssaid anything about helping you! I told you...I revenge. Take thisss. It's name issss Scorn."_

The thing handed Annie a bow. It seemed incredibly old, carved from what appeared to be petrified wood, and inlaid with hundred of bizarre runes only one of which Annie recognized - an Ankh. The bow had no string nor arrows, but Annie knew this wouldn't really matter. It was a terrible weapon, capable of untold destruction.

"_I would not curssse you with my greatessst gift. But you may have thissss. Put it to good ussse!" _Sarah said, as she faded from sight.

Annie went upstairs to George's room and looked down at his floor, knowing with that same awful insight the dark parts of us always possess that the damned cursed coin was somewhere under the floorboards. There was nowhere else it could be. Annie raised one eyebrow, and the floor exploded upward leaving a gaping hole, and exposing the drywall that made up the ceiling below. There lay the coin, glimmering in the dust. Annie picked it up and stuck it into the pocket of her cardie. Then she concentrated fiercely on George and Mitchell, and popped out of the house.

George looked around the cage, frightened out of his wits. The last thing he remembered, he'd been in his wolf form, begging Annie and Mitchell to stay with him and help keep that monstrous psycho he'd carried within him all his life from coming back. The next thing he knew, he was surrounded by vampires, PC's and an apparently evil Mitchell. They laughingly tossed him into the cage with a blond haired vampire in a constable's uniform.

The PC, for his part, looked like he wasn't too happy about being there either. It seemed the vampire life wasn't suiting him, so Herrick had him tossed in there with George to force the matter the way he'd done with Mitchell. The crowd, some of whom were human, were cheering and screaming for blood, hoping for an event as exciting as Mitchell's Impaling earlier. George picked up a stave as the vampire approached.

"Look, I don't want to do this -" the vampire was saying. Why did that voice sound so familiar? A dim memory, a voice like that telling him something that had made him very angry, floated through George's head.

George was too scared to let the vampire get close; this had to be a trick to get him to let his guard down, leading to an easy kill. George waved the stave around before dropping it to investigate a sliver he'd embedded in one finger.

"Of all the luck, they couldn't sand down these things?" he complained. He popped it out before suddenly realizing he was defenseless, and he grabbed up the stave again.

George repeated his stave waving, while the blond vampire stood back, his hands up in a placating gesture.

"George, it's me! Sgt. Angel! I promise not to hurt you!" he said through clenched teeth, trying not to let the crowd hear him.

Sgt. Angel? From that time when he was a kid? It couldn't be!

"I got turned shortly after I closed your case! I kept tabs on you over the years, even heard about when you became a lyco! They will never let us out of here until one of us is dead. There's only one option, and I wish to god it didn't have to be so! Son...will you trust me?"

George listened for a few minutes.

"It's come to this then? I just get my life back, and its over already? Go on then. I just don't care anymore." George threw down the stave for the second, and last time.

The blond vampire fell on him.

It was over in seconds. Sgt. Angel stood up, carrying the body of George Sands towards the cage exit. He was let out, where Herrick and Mitchell slapped him on the back for getting rid of the thorn in their sides.

"I will miss him. He had a certain style!" sniffled Herrick. Mitchell solemnly agreed. "He will get a decent burial. He was my friend after all!"

The crowd cheered, and in mid-cheer they suddenly went "ohhhhh" as a newcomer appeared in their midst, standing just inside the warehouse door.

"Splendid. The banshee." snarled Herrick.

Annie stood there, armed with her bow and gazing at the assemblage of the most evil men in Bristol. Vampires...and worse than vampires. Human men who supported them out of greed for money or power. She nodded her head, raised her bow, and began to slaughter them all. As her fingers drew back on an invisible string, she felt a surge of her own power leave her being and solidify into a nocked arrow that first glimmered silver, and then became flaming hot. The eyes of the assemblage widened collectively, and they drew in a startled gasp. For some, it was their last.

The first flaming arrow hit a bleacher, and detonated it. The explosion even blew the cage apart, and when the smoke cleared, only twisted metal and several bits of bone remained. The flame itself burned hotter than hell, and furiously spent itself in less than ten seconds. Annie sent a second arrow, and another bleacher was destroyed. There were two left, but they were largely empty as the shouting men, in a panicked stampede, rushed the exit hoping to escape. A final arrow left them so much ash, leaving the small crowd of Mitchell, Herrick and Sgt. Angel staring at her in mute horror. And well they might, one look at her face told them all they needed to know about their impending fate. After all, it was a look they had given to so many others.

Annie snapped her fingers, and the ruins of the cage came to life, curling two of its bars around Herrick and Mitchell, immobilizing them completely. Annie faced Sgt. Angel, who of all the people in the room seemed truly regretful at what he's done.

"You killed my friend." she said to the blond vampire.

He shook his head.

"No, he's not dead. He'll wake, soon enough."

Annie's eyes widened.

"No! You should never have done that! He would rather die!" she screamed.

"And he has that option. I'd have let him kill me if I thought he could escape. I'd rather have died than do this to someone else. This way, he would at least have had a chance at revenge. I...I can't tell what's right or wrong anymore. If I have wronged him in doing this, I'll accept his judgment."

"Take him out of here. Be there when he wakes, see that his needs are met. I'll come find you when I'm done with these."

Sgt. Angel nodded, and carried George out of the warehouse.

The cage bars released Herrick at Annie's command.

"So, in order to get in your camp, a person has be completely and utterly evil. Very well, I'm going to introduce you to your new best friend, let's see what he makes of you." She teleported him to some unknown location. Her look of grim satisfaction left Mitchell with little doubt that the destination was final. She was back a moment later.

Mitchell sneered up at Annie. "Gonna drop me at the north Pole? Toast me with that magic bow? Go ahead. It'll hurt you more than it would me. Go on, you spectral tart-"

Annie stamped her foot, and Mitchell quieted as his internal organs liquefied from the concentrated shockwave she projected through him. He keeled over, speechless with pain, while his body began the difficult process of reconstituting them. Annie took the coin out of her pocket and looked at it thoughtfully. She flipped it in the air, snatching it back before it hit the ground. She slapped it into her palm and found a smiling fanged face staring back up at her.

Mitchell coughed and sat up. "Annie? What the hell happened to me?" he gasped.

Annie released him from his prison, and popped him home.

George woke as a new vampire the next day. Sgt. Angel was present, and guided him through his first feeding. They'd picked a mugger that had been robbing Totterdown's elderly for months, and George stopped long before he drained the fellow dry.

"That's amazing! That's some willpower you have!" Sgt. Angel beamed at him.

In reality, despite his new condition, George felt very little temptation to kill. It was as if that part of him had been carved out. Truth be told, he didn't miss it at all. Mitchell helped as well, trying to teach him the basics of staying off blood. They were hoping against hope that the old man would keep his word and undo everything once the coin was returned. If the old man refused, both George and Sgt. Angel requested Annie to use a final arrow on them. Mitchell had more than half a mind to join them. But first things first.

At the appointed time, when the full moon was rising into the sky (George looked at it wistfully) Sgt. Angel, George, Mitchell and Annie approached the shop and entered.

George walked up to the counter and slapped the Janus Coin onto it.

"I am extremely unsatisfied, and would like to return this." he said, with scorched black eyes and extended fangs.

The man nodded, as if he expected it.

"I'm sorry son, I only did it to help get a nice, polite, bright young man get rid of his curse. But you traded one for another. They do seem to find you, don't they? Tell you what, keep the coin and let things be, and I'll return you to true mortal life. How does that sound?"

George shook his head. "Too many people to count will be dead, some by my own hand. I can't live with that. If you want to do that for someone, please do it for Sgt. Angel."

The old man puffed ruefully on the pipe.

"You just pass test after test! Ghandi would have flunked that one. Yes, it was a trick my boy, and you have certainly earned the rewind. I'll adjust the timeline so that Herrick decides against making him a vampire." The old man picked up a small plastic doll with red hair and plastic vampire fangs. It looked cheap and crudely made, unlike the other objects in the shop.

"Isn't that right, Herrick?" The old man gave the doll a squeeze, and it let out a sharp squeal.

"Thank you, Annie Sawyer, for the gift. I'm afraid he tried to do violence unto me, and I don't take kindly to that nonsense. He'll make a great present for some lucky kid."

Mitchell gave a horrified gasp when he saw it, and George just shook his head sadly. Sgt. Angel smiled grimly. Couldn't happen to a better guy. Now that was justice.

The old man took the coin and gave it an expert flip. It landed on the counter and rolled all the way to the point where the counter joined the wall before bouncing off. The Janus Coin came to a rest standing delicately on its edge. It began to revolve slowly at first, then faster and faster. The sparkling light blinded the flatmates. The sky outside brightened, then darkened again very quickly. The clouds were moving swiftly and silently, as in time lapse footage. They recoiled from the terrible sight, only to see the hundreds of people whizzing around the street outside, frantically racing backwards from their destinations to their starting points. Mitchell watched dozens of customers disgorge kebab after kebab and return them to the seller who promptly placed them on the grill. He thought he would never be able to look at one again without feeling sick. Nausea and vertigo swept through each of them, and they cried out as their vision went black.

April 14th, 2008

"I told you, when I'm the wolf I don't remember anything I do. It's like I'm a different person, or thing. A really angry thing. That's why I don't blame Tully for scratching me, although I have to wonder why he wasn't locking himself up. That whole business with wanting to be matey with me and having me fight with you two, and keeping what he did a secret until he was in good with me…that was all him. He can't blame the wolf for that."

"And that's why you got rid of him." Said Mitchell, looking distastefully down at a kebab (he'd gotten George to buy it for him, claiming he left his wallet at home) before tossing the entire thing in the trash. The napkin didn't make it in, and Mitchell was inclined to leave it there, but a passing PC with white-blond hair gave him a stern look. He trashed it.

"You're wasting food! And my money!" George scolded, looking after the PC. He seemed oddly familiar.

"Well, he was a wanker. I'm glad he's gone." Chimed in Annie. They had gone on an outing, feeling a need to get out of the house that was rare for all three of them.

Mitchell stopped at another street vendor, this one selling hot peanuts and pretzels. He held his hand out to George for more money. George and Annie rolled their eyes, while George leaned up against the glass of an antique shop to fish for his wallet.

"Here you go. That's my last bit of cash. It would save time if I just sign my paycheck over to you rather than have you steal it piece by piece."

"Thanks. That would be more convenient." said Mitchell absently, stopping to look at a cheap plastic constable doll in the window. It looked oddly familiar somehow.

When the three returned home at the end of the day, they found a package on the front steps.

"To Annie, From Sarah. Use it well. Hell hath no fury." read Annie.

She opened it to reveal a stringless bow, carved with intricate designs.

"Where on earth would my sister get this, and why would she send it to me? It seems oddly familiar." George and Mitchell looked at her askance.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing." they said.

"What do you guys want to do tonight? Watch the Real Hustle?" she asked.

"Sounds lovely. Shall I bring the snacks?" asked Lauren, slinking up from nowhere.

Annie rolled her eyes.

"Do you ever give up? I know how to fix you!" She lifted the bow, and pretended to draw an arrow, aiming it directly at the petite female vampire.

It took weeks to get the street repaired.


End file.
